


Bipolarity

by ununpentium



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:37:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununpentium/pseuds/ununpentium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John walked in to the kitchen of 221b just as Sherlock had finished arranging his tablets into a pyramid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bipolarity

John walked in to the kitchen of 221b just as Sherlock had finished arranging his tablets into a pyramid.

“So you’ve not started taking them yet?” John asked as he put down his bags of shopping rather heavily onto the table, causing the pyramid to wobble and then fall over. Sherlock looked annoyed.

“No, I have not John. As you can see I have spent the past thirty minutes arranging my tablets into various configurations, the latest of which you have destroyed with your heavy handedness.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sherlock, you do realise the tablets won’t actually work if you don’t take them? Dr Samuels has prescribed them for a reason, not for you to arrange into fucking shapes on the kitchen table!”

Sherlock stood up and in one sweep of his arm knocked all of the tablets to the floor.

“I shall tell Dr Samuels where to put his sodding tablets,” Sherlock announced, and stormed off into his bedroom, dressing gown billowing behind him.

John patiently and wordlessly picked up every single tablet from the floor.

____

A week later from the tablet-pyramid incident, Sherlock was lying face down on the sofa. He had not moved for precisely two and a half hours, and John silently wondered how Sherlock could breathe in such a position.

Sherlock had denied all of John’s offerings of tea and toast, and had lost interest in the cold cases he was working on. John was thinking of phoning Mycroft in a panic when the lump that was Sherlock made a noise, and rolled over.

“This is insufferable, John.”

“Are you feeling depressed?”

Sherlock clapped his hands slowly.

“Brilliant deduction, John. Brilliant.”

John clenched his jaw.

“You don’t have to be a smart arse just because you’re not feeling well. I was only asking how you are feeling.”

Sherlock sat up and ruffled his hair angrily.

“Yes I’m feeling depressed. I cannot stand it a minute longer. At least the hypomania means I can be productive and useful, but with the depression I cannot function.”

Sherlock lay back down on the sofa, this time facing the ceiling, and covered his face with his hands.

“I haven’t slept properly in four days, what interest in food I had has vanished, and what is most concerning are the sheer volume of thoughts encouraging me to harm myself.”

John looked concerned, “Harm yourself how?”

Sherlock waved his hand in John’s general direction.

“The usual. Cutting, burning, abusing narcotics. Anything for a bit of relief.”

“Well, you have the mood stabilisers Dr Samuels prescribed. If you actually took them then you’d stop having such wild mood swings, Sherlock.” John stood up and walked into the kitchen where he retrieved a new pack of tablets that he had requested on Sherlock’s behalf. He stood in front of the sofa where Sherlock was still laying.

“I don’t want to take them.”

“Why?”

Sherlock stood up abruptly, snatched the box of tablets from John’s hands and flung them across the room where they hit the spray painted smiley face square on, and fell to the floor.

“Because if I take the damn tablets then I’m ill. I have an _illness_ that requires _medicating_ ,” Sherlock spoke with venom dripping from his voice. “I become like mummy, who spent my entire childhood locked up in various institutions and asylums, always drugged up on one form of medication or another.”

John stepped towards Sherlock slowly, holding his hands out in a placating fashion.

“Times have changed since then, Sherlock. The reason you’ve been prescribed this medication is to keep you _out_ of hospital, not lock you up in one. It’s to keep you functioning; to stop your brain from spinning out of control.”

Sherlock simply stared at John, not moving a muscle.

“Please, Sherlock, you need to take them. If not for yourself then for me, the man you married. I couldn’t bear to see you crumble in front of my eyes, to see such an amazing genius spin higher and higher, out of control, only to crash and splinter into a thousand pieces. I love you,” John’s voice broke as he started to cry, not even trying to hide his face.

Sherlock quickly stepped forward to hold his husband in his arms.

“Please, John, don’t cry. I can’t bear to see you upset.”

John quietened in Sherlock’s arms.

“I’ll take them,” Sherlock whispered. “I’ll take them.”

John silently stepped backwards, picked up the box of tablets from the floor, opened it and popped one out of the blister pack. He picked up the glass of water from the coffee table, and handed both to Sherlock.

Sherlock placed the tablet on his tongue and swallowed it with a sip of water.

“I love you, John.”

“I love you too, Sherlock.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, my first fic in god knows how long.
> 
> The reason for my hiatus is the same disorder I have afflicted Sherlock with in this fic, and like Sherlock I am on new medication.
> 
> As I was taking my tablets this morning I got the image of Sherlock arranging his tablets neatly on the table, and this fic was born.
> 
> This fic was originally going to be quite dark, but then it turned out relatively fluffy. There may be darker fic to come. I don't imagine for a second that just because Sherlock's taken his medication that everything is going to be hunky dory, so we may see more of Sherlock's struggle.
> 
> Thanks to everyone still reading my fic! <3


End file.
